Not far away, Hitmonchan was still putting up a desperate fight.
Its struggle with Krookodile had reached a fever pitch, with every punch delivered with a desperate intensity.
However, Krookodile's strength and defense were too formidable, keeping it firmly pinned down.
Seizing the opportunity, Malamar sent several Psycho Cuts slicing through the air, striking Hitmonchan's body with precision.
The blades sank into flesh with a dull thud. Hitmonchan's body shuddered violently, and its movements slowed noticeably; it was clearly severely injured.
Having finished off Sen, Greninja flashed forward, using Teleport to appear right in front of Hitmonchan.
The Water Shuriken in its hand traced a nearly perfect arc through the air, plunging straight into Hitmonchan's heart.
It was a fatal strike, executed without a single wasted movement—so clean and swift that it sent a chill down one's spine.
Hitmonchan's body stiffened, the final light in its eyes fading rapidly. It collapsed with a thud, its life force quickly dissipating.
Yuno saw that the situation was lost and knew there was no hope left.
She abruptly raised her Poké Ball, intending to release her final Pokémon.
However, Greninja was faster. With a flash of a blade, the arm Yuno used to hold the Poké Ball was severed at the root. The Poké Ball fell to the ground and rolled several meters away.
Excruciating pain forced a shrill scream from her, but that scream was cut short almost immediately.
Another flash of the blade, too fast for the naked eye to track, sent Yuno's head flying high into the air before it fell limply, rolling to rest beside Sen's cold corpse.
The scent of blood completely stained the forest.
Ariel watched it all with calm eyes, as if he had merely observed an ordinary hunt.
This battlefield had always been this way.
The victor lives, the loser dies.
...
Greninja stood before Sen's corpse, its gaze hollow.
In the dead of night, it had countless times imagined itself slaying its enemy to avenge its kin.
But now that the great vengeance had been exacted, it felt none of the satisfaction it had imagined.
The flames of revenge had once been the only fuel for its life. Now that the enemy was gone, that burning heat had extinguished, leaving behind only a bone-deep emptiness.
It had once fought and lived for the bloodline of its clan, but now that the clan was extinct, for whom did it exist?
An invisible weight pressed upon its heart—heavy, yet intangible and impossible to grasp.
Ariel stepped forward and lightly patted its shoulder.
The touch was light, yet it acted like an electric current, shattering the confusion surrounding Greninja.
He spoke concisely, his voice steady:
"As agreed, I have helped you exact your revenge. You shall now be the sword in my hand."
This was not a request; it was more of a declaration.
A new mission, a new way of existing, was thus branded deep into Greninja's soul.
Upon hearing this, the confusion in Greninja's eyes dissipated, replaced by a sense of resolve.
It slowly knelt on one knee and bowed its head deeply. That posture was one of submission, and also of rebirth.
From this moment on, its world had only one center—Ariel.
Its loyalty was no longer a continuation of bloodline, but a surrender of will.
Ariel nodded with satisfaction; this sense of control was something he enjoyed.
Just then, a subtle sound came from deep within the forest.
It was not the running of a beast, but rather the sound of human footsteps, deliberately suppressed yet impossible to fully conceal.
Ariel had keen hearing, and he guessed from the rhythm that it was highly likely to be Norman.
A powerful and righteous Gym Leader.
Ariel frowned slightly; he did not intend to hide Sen's death.
However, his brutal killing methods, combined with the fact that he hadn't a single scratch on him, would inevitably invite unnecessary speculation in the eyes of a righteous crusader like Norman.
He needed a story—one that Norman could accept and would not investigate further.
"Cut me."
Ariel gave the order to Greninja, his voice low and urgent.
Greninja's movements visibly hesitated for a moment.
A flash of incomprehensible confusion crossed its gem-like eyes.
Self-harm?
This went against its combat instincts and seemed to conflict with the loyalty it had just established.
It did not understand why it should turn its blade against its own master.
Seeing its hesitation, Ariel's tone instantly became somewhat impatient:
"Hurry!"
He had no interest in explaining; time was tight.
Greninja hesitated no longer; it knew well that Ariel's orders were not to be questioned.
It raised its hand-blade, and the sharp finger-blades whistled through the air, precisely slicing across Ariel's body.
It was not a vital area, just the arm, flank, and other such places, leaving behind a few shallow, symbolic wounds.
Beads of blood seeped out, staining his black robes—a shocking sight, yet not life-threatening.
Beside them, Krookodile, without needing an order from Ariel, already understood the intent.
Its massive body suddenly dropped, and its heavy tail slammed hard into the ground.
In an instant, a visible shockwave spread out; the earth shook violently, as if trampled by a giant beast.
Dead branches and fallen leaves were blasted away, soil churned, and several thin trees toppled in response. The broken wood chips mixed with dust, instantly turning the battlefield into a scene of chaos, filled with swirling smoke and debris.
Earthquake!
It was not attacking blindly, but rather using a crude yet effective method to create the chaotic scene of a bitter battle.
When Norman finally pushed through the swirling dust and entered the area, this was the scene he saw:
Ariel, his clothes tattered, a few shocking bloodstains on him, his face pale.
And the Pokémon beside him—Krookodile, Malamar, Greninja, and Weavile—were all, without exception, panting, their muscles taut, as if they had just survived a life-or-death battle.
They were covered in dirt and blood, their eyes weary yet alert, as if ready to plunge back into battle at any moment.
Ariel took it all in; he understood the weaknesses of human nature well and was also a master of the art of performance.
Upon seeing Norman's anxious face, his mouth twitched imperceptibly. Immediately afterward, his tense body could no longer hold up; his eyes lost focus, and he fell straight backward!
Dust flew as he hit the ground with a heavy thud, unconscious.
"Ariel!"
Norman strode forward and caught the fallen Ariel.